UNWELCOME VOICES
808 Words
Lydai's POV
I slipped through the front door, my movements as quiet as a ghost. The first thing I noticed was that Zoey’s door was closed. A small, painful wave of relief washed over me. At least she was sleeping. At least she wouldn't see my swollen, bloodshot eyes or ask why I was home three hours before my shift was supposed to end.
"You’re back early."
The voice was cold and sharp. I froze. Miss Beatrice was standing behind me, her arms crossed like a prison guard patrolling her territory.
I didn't turn around immediately. My head was pounding, a dull throb behind my eyes, and my chest felt as though someone had replaced my lungs with lead. The weight of the day, the firing, the humiliation, the fear, had followed me home.
"I lost my job," I said. My voice was a mere shadow of itself.
"Of course you did." Miss Beatrice let out a dry, jagged laugh, the sound of someone who had been waiting for me to fail.
The sting was sharper than I expected. I finally turned to look at her. She stood there, rooted in the center of my mother’s house, wearing comfort like a stolen garment. This was the same house my mother had filled with warmth and grace, vessels of kindness that Miss Beatrice clearly didn't know how to carry.
She stepped closer, her eyes boring into mine. "You can't keep living like this, Lydia. You're a magnet for problems," she spat. "Hospital bills, missed shifts, and now? No income at all?"
"I'm doing my best," I whispered, my fists clenching until my nails bit into my palms. I was literally holding myself together.
"Your 'best' isn't paying the electric bill, is it?" She rolled her eyes, stepping fully into my personal space. "I don't care how you do it, but you must have a new lead by tomorrow. I won't have you lounging around here while I pick up the slack."
"My daughter is sick!" The words finally burst out of me, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "I am doing everything I can for her!"
She sighed, a long, dramatic sound as if my daughter’s illness were a personal inconvenience to her schedule. "Doing everything isn't enough, Lydia. Look at the women your age out there. They know how to provide. They know how to use what they have."
The way she looked me up and down made my stomach turn cold. I didn't wait for her to finish. I turned and fled toward Zoey’s room.
I didn't turn on the light. I didn't want to disturb the only peace left in this house. In the dim shadows, I saw Zoey move slightly, clutching her pillow to her chest. My heart didn't just ache; it constricted. I sank to the floor beside her bed, my knees hitting the wood with a soft thud.
"Please be okay," I breathed, the words so quiet they barely left my lips.
In the pale light, she looked like an angel, lips parted slightly, skin looking far too delicate for the battle raging inside her small body. A crushing wave of guilt hit me. Was I failing her? Was love a luxury we couldn't afford when the world demanded money I didn't have?
I stayed there until the silence became too loud, until reality began to claw at my throat again. Bills. Medication. Tomorrow.
I forced myself to stand and slipped out, leaning against the hallway wall for a moment to catch my breath before retreating to my own room.
I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled out my phone. It felt small and pathetic in my hand, a plastic lifeline that was failing me. I didn't want pity, and I certainly didn't want to beg. I just needed work. Honest work.
I opened the browser, my fingers shaking as I typed into the search bar.
Jobs. Work from home. Immediate start.
The screen flooded with listings, and my chest tightened with every scroll. 12-hour shifts. (I couldn't leave Zoey that long.) Degree required. (I hadn't finished mine.) Minimum wage. (It wouldn't even cover one round of her meds.)
"There has to be something," I muttered, sitting up straighter, wiping a stray tear before it could hit the screen. I didn't have the right to be afraid. Not when Zoey was counting on me.
I scrolled past the standard listings, deeper into the pages of the search results, past the grocery store roles and the cleaning gigs. My thumb hovered over a link that looked different from the others. No company name. Just a high-figure salary and a cryptic title.
Somewhere out there, on some hidden page, was the answer to my prayers. And I wouldn't stop until I found it, no matter what the cost.
- Writer
